Down the Rabbit Hole
by IAmDevon
Summary: The Joker becomes obsessed with Rachel after the night at Bruce's party. He's determined to show her his side, the fun side, the chaotic side. He wants her to follow him down the rabbit hole. The way he sees it, all she needs is a little ... push.
1. New Playmate

**A/N: Trying this again. Thank you for bothering me about it. I (probably) wouldn't have even tried if no one cared. *tears of happiness***

**Disclaimer: Ha.**

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"Okay, stop." The words were out of Rachel's mouth before she knew that she had said them, her legs propelling her forward from the frightened crowd. And when the Joker looked directly at her, amused interest lighting up his burning, eerie mud-brown eyes, her stomach dropped ten feet through the floor. She was his target now.

It didn't matter what he did to her of course. She'd do it again. It wasn't about regret or lack thereof. It was just that impulse - the same one she had always felt from way back to those days on the playground when she would stand up to the bullies picking on the weaker kids. It was an impulse to see what was _right _carried out. Fairness. Equilibrium. It was no surprise that that impulse was going to get her killed. She had gotten accustomed to the idea at some time or another. How unfortunate that it would be by the hands of this particular madman.

The Joker sauntered forward lazily, his snake-like movements drawing all of her attention. "Well he-llo Beautiful." Fear and anxiety pricked at her skin and she almost felt dizzy. She wouldn't show it though, because she was also very, _very _angry. This was the same psychopath instilling fear and enabling corruption in the city she loved so much. This was the man who had made fear the norm and paranoia the mindset. This was the man who set the world on fire just to hear the screams. And this was the man who was threatening the man who she was in love with... Both of them actually.

Unacceptable.

So Rachel glared evenly at him, crossing her arms defiantly even as her knees slowly trembled. He continued with locked eyes, the knife in his hand prominent. Somehow it never took away any of his ... _essence_. Even without the knife, the bombs, the guns, the Joker was still the Joker. He was uninhibited and unstoppable. All you had to do was look at him and know that he wouldn't quit until his body was cold and those mud-eyes lifeless.

He pushed some of his greasy green hair back and licked his ravaged lips in anticipation. "You must be Harvy's squ-weeze." Everyone around her held their breath, not believing that this was really happening to them. She hardly noticed. Neither did she bother with silently pleading for help. They wouldn't do anything, couldn't really.

He was in front of her now, staring for only a moment. His madness filled the space between them. For one hysterical moment, she was afraid that she would catch it. A childhood poem ran through her mind.

_I've got the devil on my tail. He's riding high and fine. I've got the devil on my tail and I think I've lost my mind. _She had to stiffle a giggle."And you are beautiful." She laughed.

"Oh God. Am I really being hit on by a sociopathic murderer?" She did giggle then.

The Joker stared blankly for a minute. Then he burst into that maniacal laughter that she hated so much. It chilled her to the bone and she shivered, trying to put space between her and the Joker. Her eyes widened as she realized what she had just said. Once again, she hadn't meant to.

But you had to pay for everything.

He grabbed her suddenly, the knife at her throat. "Where are you going? We were having so much fun." The knife slid over her skin, and she couldn't help her trembling now. "Be still, Beautiful." He tilted his head, reminding her of a bird-of-prey.

He studied her. "You've got such a lovely throat. Long and smooth. But too pale, too pale." _Calm, calm, calm, calm. _But she was going to die here. Tonight. She didn't want to. She still had cases. And it wasn't as much of a surprise as she would have thought when the realization hit that she was thinking of Harvey, not Bruce. Harvey...

The knife danced lightly across her throat, reminding her where she was. He smiled eagerly.

"Let's add some ..."

The moment was suspended between them, and her heart began beating so fast that its echoing vibrations physically hurt. It gave her a headache ontop of everything else. She knew he meant to do this, to make it more painful. _Sonofabitch._ That would be her last thought.

Mama raised a lady.

_"Color!"_

She gasped, along with half of the room. Half of the room. She was still hear to make that observation. Then she realized that there had only been a tiny knick. The Joker had only pricked enough to draw blood. He stared inspectingly at the red stain on his knife. When he held up a slim, grimy finger to rub the blood into circles on her neck, she felt faint for the first time in her life. His face was ... sick. "Good enough to eat."

Her eyes fluttered and she almost lost consciousness when he laughed at her. She shook her head, enraged. How dare he mock her! Reeling forward once and backwards again, she spat at him. His surprise gave her the opportunity to knee him in the groin and the knife bit slightly into her shoulder as she backed away. He was laughing again - no, howling. It hurt her ears and she was afraid, she was afraid, she was very afraid.

He glided towards her again, looking happier than a kid in a candy shop. His eyes were boring into hers, arresting her and telling her what she already knew. "My my. I think I've found a new playmate."

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She woke up drenched in sweat. These nightmares had been haunting her ever since the night the Joker had showed up at Bruce's party. Thankfully, her infamous ex had shown up in full Batman array and saved her. Temporarily of course. The next day, she had been named as a target for the Joker's twisted games. Harvey had called her at work, desperate and nearly hysterical. "Go to the safest place in the city," he had said. The safest place. There was no safe place from her rabid thoughts.

Bruce rushed through the door of the guest bedroom she was in, climbing into the bed she was in. He cradled her, kissing her forehead. A drop of guilt appeared as she thought of Harvey, but it was pushed away by Bruce's calming voice. His ironically gentle nature always reassured her. "Shh, Rachel. It's okay to be scared." She pushed him off of her. He was wrong. "I'm not afraid!" she spat. "I'm angry! I'm angry at him and if I have the chance I'll kill him! I'm not scared!" Bruce sighed, dragging her back to him. She refused to cry and began hiccuping instead.

She wasn't afraid. She could handle anything the world could dish out. She could handle the Joker. Bruce was wrong. Harvey was wrong. They were underestimating her.

And so was that fucking clown.

"I can handle it." Bruce nodded, worrying. She knew what he was thinking, knew that he was seeing straight through her. He saw her need to prove herself, and she saw his desire that their relationship differ from that.

He was hoping for too much.

He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her neck. She pulled away and leveled him with a righteous gaze.

Imperiously: "Are you glad that I'm here? Are you glad?"

With a bow of his head he replied in that grim voice, "Are you afraid?"

"No." He wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm not afraid."

"And I'm not glad you're here."

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**The new and improved. Hope you liked. I'm on to the next one.**


	2. Games

**A/N: Hello.**

**Disclaimer: HA!**

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Rachel _had_ to get out of this house. She had been here for two weeks with Bruce and nothing had happened. It should have calmed her. It should have calmed the whole city. Only the exact opposite was happening. Everyone was on edge. There was a frightened hush over the city. Even calm, logical Bruce couldn't eat or sleep.

The Joker didn't stop.

This was only the calm before the storm. And when it broke, it would be a hell of a tempest.

But she was falling behind on her work. Two weeks on unofficial leave might as well have been two years. There was only so much she could do via e-mail. She wasn't helping anyone in her current position, and she was itching to get back to where she belonged. And the more she stayed in this empty, too-big house, the more she realized that her place _certainly _wasn't with Bruce.

The thought saddened her. Her thing with Bruce (she realized it was immature to keep referring to it as a "thing") still hadn't come to a complete close. It needed to be finished so that they could both move on, but she just wasn't sure how to do that. He was still her best friend, and hurting him hurt her. Still, it had to be done. It wasn't fair of her to keep him hanging on like this. He couldn't always be her security blanket.

Rachel had never thought of herself as the type of woman to have to practice break-up lines in the mirror (was it a break-up?), but there she was.

_It won't work. We're not good for each other_.

But they were. Or at least they had been. Once upon a time.

_We've outgrown each other. _

He had helped her to mature more than anyone else.

__

_It's the past._

He was supposed to be her future.

_I need a partner, not a damn savior!_

That one hurt _her_. The truth was the worst thing sometimes, and all of a sudden she had the childish urge to run away. Bruce was gone as usual. He was out fighting a battle he couldn't win. She was doing no good to him here. She was only hurting him, and she'd known it from the moment In a flashing moment, her keys were in her hand and she was out the door, trying not to see Alfred's disappointed face. She was acting like a _child_.

Outside it was cold. In her car it was cold. Inside she felt cold. The heater was broken, and her figurative one wasn't doing so hot either. Not only that, but there was nothing worse than a January day in Gotham. She didn't even know where she was _going_.

But she had to go. She had to. She knew it. And it wasn't as if she didn't have options. Maybe she'd go to Harvey's - no, _their _apartment. She had talked to him very little in the two weeks that she had been holed up in Bruce's castle. She missed him. She needed him and -

_What_ was that in the - Rachel swerved in her attempt not to hit the figure that had run out in front of her Camry. Her car went up on the sidewalk and her head hit against the seat and forward. The impact of the street light jerked her body back and then her head took another blow against the driver's window. The pain was sudden and it stunned her. She groaned, and tried not to give up. Only she didn't feel like doing anything else, and sunk against her seat, closing her eyes. The smell of blood did nothing but tire her even further.

She was very, _very _tired.

A howling laugh that she had met in her nightmares so many times before echoed around her - as if it were everywhere. A painted, grinning face seeped through her pain-induced haze. A disturbed voice belonging to a disturbed man met her ringing ears. "Missed me, missed me, know you gotta - " Rachel closed her eyes in disgust as she felt the slight pressure of his lips on her cheek. "Kiss me," she heard before she blacked out.

Rachel felt like a rag doll - limp and useless. She was starting to sweat and it was hard to breathe. And her head hurt like hell. When spit began gathering more rapidly than usual, she put two and two together. Her hazed brain spat out the fact that she had been drugged. Probably Pavulon or Anectin. Not an overly large dose or she'd certainly be dead. But it was enough so that whoever it was - and she already knew it was _him _- could do whatever he wanted to do to her and she couldn't so much as shriek. The thought made her dizzy and sick with fear.

Fear. She remembered her little sister Sammy taunting her when she couldn't climb the highest tree in their backyard. _Fraidy cat, fraidy cat, Rachy is a fraidy cat. _Fraidy cat. "Wake up Sleeping Beauty. I've got a show for you." For the first time, she heard the distinct whimperings of a man.

She started crying when she saw him, almost choked on her own sobs. He was in nothing but a wife beater and solid red boxers. His hands were up in the air, tied by a rope that connected to the high ceiling. His body was about two feet off the ground. But that wasn't what drew her attention. It was the blood from the many gashes on his arms, legs, and torso (the blood was seeping through the slashed wife beater). It mingled with the man's excessive sweating and created a unique, petrifying smell.

He was Hispanic, about fourty to fifty years old. Probably about 200 pounds. He had a slightly pointed face, with nondescript features, and large brown eyes. Big pleading, tortured brown eyes. Rachel memorized every line in his face, every gash on his body in that moment. She'd never forget one detail for as long as she lived. She wouldn't let herself.

The Joker half-skipped, half-hopped over to her and leaned down. She noted vaguely that she was lying on a cot. It was possible there was dried blood on it, but she didn't want to think of that. If somehow her gag reflex was triggered, she would most likely choke on her own vomit. Trying to determine the details of her surroundings was more than her mind could handle at the moment. There was only blood and sweat and that laughing face in front of her.

He petted her hair, murmuring and cooing. She wanted to kill him. With every fiber of her being, she wanted to kill him. He seemed to sense it because he began that horrible laughing again. "You know, you never have any fun. Never enjoy the little things. Like most people." He sighed regretfully. "That's alright. I like you. I like you a lot Rachel. And we're going to be together for a long time." He smiled gleefully at her, and she wanted to spit at him again. "I'll show you how to enjoy good times though. Watch me play my game. It's one of my favorites, but I almost never get to have an audience."

She tried to slow her crying - tried to think of Harvey and Bruce and a day when Gotham wasn't broken and all good things, but nothing worked. She couldn't even close her eyes. She couldn't do anything but watch as the Joker slit the poor man's throat, and laughed at his face. He turned to her then, the embodiment of insanity. "Your turn."

She couldn't bring herself to be ashamed that she fainted.

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**All right. Got the second one down. ; ) Onwards great stallion!**


	3. Questionable Behavior

**A/N: Hola. Or should I say yola? *laughs hysterically* Ah, that gets me every time. Ha.**

**Disclaimer: I think we all know where we stand on this by now.**

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When Rachel woke up, she was in a bed this time. It was almost comfortable. And white. All white.

How ironic.

She did not move. She didn't feel like it. It was stuffy, so there were probably no windows. If there were, they hadn't been opened in a long while. She realized that there was no use in trying to identify any of her surroundings. She was almost certain that she would die soon.

It didn't make her sad or afraid. Really, it didn't make her anything.

All she could do was see the man's face in front of her. All she _wanted _to do was forget it.

She wanted to forget how he looked at her.

As if she could save him. As if it were _her _fault. Or maybe she was imagining that part.

Maybe it was just because it felt like her fault.

She stopped then.

Rachel realized that her brain was functioning normally. There was no curtain of sleep around it, and it didn't feel hazy in the least. Strange, but she didn't possess the motivation to try and discern why. "You didn't get to play." She didn't jump at the sound of his voice, only turned away from its direction like a petulant child. She was already tired of this stupid game. Stupid, not sick. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"You're mad at me, aren't you?" His voice was mocking as always.

"You're not going to let me go, are you?"

"How about we wait and see, hm? Wait till we're finished playing."

His smile was disgusting, and she concentrated on looking at the wall.

"Why are you doing this?" The tone of her voice suggested that she didn't care what his answer would be, or if he even answered at all.

The Joker sighed. "I had expected something a little more ... original from you." The disappointment she heard wasn't false, and for some reason she was frustrated for not meeting his standards. "Fresh out of original. But when I get the energy, I'm shoving my foot up your ass."

"I think that one's new." He was back. That stupid, mocking tone. As if he were better than everyone else, some kind of misunderstood genius that knew something no one else could comprehend.

Ridiculous.

"You didn't answer my question, Miss Dawes." She focused intently on a single piece of lint on her pillow. She blew at it, and it shivered a bit.

The Joker sighed patronizingly. "What, may I ask, is _this_?" he asked, referring to her question from earlier. Then some emotion finally started to kick in. She _should _ask why he was doing this. Pulling Gotham apart piece by vital piece.

The man's face came unbidden to her mind, and she almost gagged. She wanted to ask _why _he was killing people, _why _he was causing all of this chaos. But she knew better. Serial killers didn't have a why. They did what they did because it was who they were.

She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes.

"Aren't you going to ask me to explain my actions Miss Dawes?"

"No."

For a moment, for just _one _moment, she could tell that he really was surprised. "Well, I'm _really_ impressed now."

He roughly grabbed her face, squeezing it and bringing it to his own.

"Mind explaining _your_self."

"I don't have to explain anything to you," she gritted out.

"On the contrary, Miss Dawes. You do. I know girls like you. You don't want other players in our little ... _game,_ hm?"

They stared at each other for a moment. She didn't want to give in, but they both knew that she would.

"You're a sociopath. You don't need a _reason _for killing or destroying or ruining. People like you (and I use the term people loosely) don't need a reason. It's just who they are."

The Joker's face lit up like she'd never seen before and his grip on her face relaxed.

When he kissed her quickly on the lips, she jumped back as if someone had shot her.

He laughed.

"Ah! Ahhahaha! Oh! Oh! Ahahaha!"

Rachel pushed her hands over her ears in an effort to drown out the sound. It didn't help.

And she wanted to get to him. She wanted to see him angry for once. He always seemed so infallible. He was always exploiting everyone else's weakness, but he had to have one himself.

"So what made you how you are?"

He raised an eyebrow, smiling.

"Oh come on. It had to be something. Mommy didn't love you enough, Daddy beat you till you were blue; I don't know. Maybe you're the victim of an oh so tragic life-changing accident. What's your _excuse, _Mr. Joker? May I call you Mr. Joker?"

He stared at her for a minute.

Then he laughed again, and she lost it.

She lunged at him, but he quickly grabbed her wrists. She tried to headbutt him, but he dodged with expert ease. It was only a moment later that she felt the slight prick in her arm.

He waved a needle in front of her face and pushed her back onto the bed.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

His face was suddenly very close to hers, and she was afraid.

His face was, without a doubt, the most disturbing thing she'd ever seen. Or maybe it was just those crazed, mud-eyes. No eyes were supposed to shine like that.

"I want you to listen very carefully to what I'm about to tell you Miss Dawes," he breathed. "Don't be like everyone else, trying to make assumptions about me or explain me away. You won't be able to. I don't fit into the place you have carved out for me." Had anyone else said the words, they would have sounded angry. He still had not dropped his mocking tone, and she knew instinctively that he wasn't irritated in the least.

It was still all a game to him.

"I never laughed until I was eight years old, Miss Dawes." He gave her a faux earnest look and licked his lips. "When I was eight years old, Emily Harrison, one of my classmates, was beaten to death." She squished her eyes closed, knowing where this was going already. "No, no Miss Dawes." He shook her face harshly. "Open your eyes." She didn't.

"Open your eyes!"

She did then, in surprise. Anger was nothing she'd ever seen from him. It had turned his voice into a growl. But it had disappeared now.

"Thank you. As I was saying, Little Emily was found in the woods behind her house by her older brother. That was the first day I ever laughed Miss Dawes. Really laughed."

Rachel's eyes didn't close, but her mind tried to.

_I'm not here, I'm not here, I'm not here, I'm not here._"Nothing funny had ever happened up until then," he continued, taunting. "When I asked Emily to play hide-and-seek with me, I didn't even crack a smile. When I ran next door and picked Edward Silvin's baseball bat up from the lawn, I did feel a _little _better. When I beat her skull in - oh Miss Dawes you should have seen me!" A horrible, horrible laugh.

"When it caved in, when I hit her so hard that I heard a crack - oh let me tell you, I smiled. But it was only the next day when they found her little body, all mangled and unrecognizable that I really. Truly. Laughed."

And he was laughing now. Hooting, howling, screeching, filling the room with a nightmare sound.

She couldn't move, and remembered that he had drugged her.

But at least, oh at least she could close her eyes...

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**Review if you please!**


	4. Reboot

Yola. I appreciate the fact that some of you kept bothering me about not finishing this story, or even trying to continue it. It made me want to give it another go. First off, I have to go back and edit. I read over the other chapters and they annoyed me.

A lot. The first one's already been edited.

But antyways, your support is appreciated (and unexpected).

- Devonna Ransom (Future World Dictator)

BOW DOWN!


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